


the lonesome moon and her forsaken hero

by falsealarm



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 06:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15066776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsealarm/pseuds/falsealarm
Summary: When Zari is sixteen there comes word from Sistan of a girl raised by the Simurgh, they call her Amaya. She is of royal blood too, daughter of their queen, returned from a life in the mountains where she was abandoned as a babe. That is what most people want to talk of—a once-shunned child, now grown and ready to be accepted back into the world of man—but that is not what Zari cares about.[a Persian mythology AU]





	the lonesome moon and her forsaken hero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinceresapphire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinceresapphire/gifts).



> For the prompt: Amaya/Zari - mythology au.
> 
> Since there weren't any specifics I thought it would be nice to do a Persian myth and the story of Zal and Rudabeh worked quite nicely for Amaya and Zari. Based semi-loosely on [Helen Zimmern's translation of the Shahnameh](https://www.sattor.com/english/Shahnameh.pdf) by Hakim Abol Qasem Ferdowsi Tousi. Un-beta'd and only lightly edited so all mistakes are my own.

When Zari is sixteen there comes word from Sistan of a girl raised by the Simurgh, they call her Amaya. She is of royal blood too, daughter of their queen, returned from a life in the mountains where she was abandoned as a babe. That is what most people want to talk of—a once-shunned child, now grown and ready to be accepted back into the world of man—but that is not what Zari cares about.

She has heard stories about the Simurgh: of how the flap of its wings sent forth seeds from the tree of knowledge unto the world, of how its touch cures all wounds shy the cold of death and how its body shines with colors her eyes could not comprehend. But she never thought it alive now and just across the country, sitting at the top of Mount Alborz. Yet there it sits, apparently whiling away its last handful of years raising a child found fit to be accepted into the house of her queen.

That is what Zari cares about.

What kind of woman would grow under the care of a Simurgh? Would she be wild? She would speak, as the Simurgh itself is blessed with speech, but would she speak like Zari? Was her skin hardened from the sun? A lifetime atop a mountain is a harsh life to lead, on the body and the mind. Would she even be able to live among men? Would a real bed be a relief or an unwelcome softness after sleeping in a nest? And what does one eat with a Simurgh to feed you? Is it flesh? Raw and red and bleeding.

Someone says that she is handsome. That she is strong and straight-backed and her eyes are a deep pool of mystery and Zari wonders why a girl like that would be left to die at the base of a mountain. Someone says that her mother thought her touched by evil, that she was born with a scar, white as the moon, pressed into the flesh of her chest. Zari wonders if the scar is raised or if it is smooth, wonders if the woman hides it or bears it proudly now that she is returned home.

But mostly, Zari wonders if Amaya will ever be able to see her Simurgh mother again. And, when she sleeps, Zari dreams of feathered wings, of a bright white moon and a warm hand on her wrist.

 

\---

 

It is nearly ten years before Zari thinks of Amaya again.

There are rumors for a few weeks. First, there is solid, factual news that Amaya has taken over the kingdom while her mother has been called to battle for the Shah. Then news that she is travelling her country, letting her people see her for the first time and that is when the rumors start. Rumors that Amaya will actually be travelling far enough to reach Kabul, that perhaps after all these years Zari will finally meet the woman raised by the Simurgh.

The rumors prove true just days later when Zari’s father sets out to a camp newly set up on the outskirts of the city. He is gone all night and Zari watches from her window—the flicker of flames pinpricks on the horizon as the sun sets and turns the sky coal black.

She is with her mother all the next day, waiting patiently for news from her father who returned late last evening drunk on company and stories from afar. He finds them together in the house of women and Zari tries not to look too earnest as her mother asks of Amaya, of their new queen.

Zari’s father has nothing but praise for the woman. She is a hero among men, he says. Her heart a lion’s and her strength an elephant’s—he says that her ire is vicious as a crocodile’s, that no man should ever dare to cross her. And of her scar, of the mark that once had her shunned from the world, he says: “It only makes her more glorious.”

So it is not _her_ fault that suddenly Zari feels as if she is in love.

After that the stories she hears are stolen from the lips of guards, from servants that helped with Amaya’s welcoming feast. She learns that while Amaya’s presence is certainly impressive she is fairly slight in stature, even with the robes of her nobility. She learns that Amaya is skilled with sword and bow, that she speaks to every person as if they are her equal, and that her smile is bright as the sun in the midday sky and her laugh a warm breeze in the spring.

With every story Zari finds her heart longing, to meet Amaya, to see if she is truly as the stories portray her. But her handmaids are quick to remind Zari that Amaya is tainted. A girl raised in the mountains by a bird, a girl shunned by her mother, by their queen, is not the kind of person Zari should have interest in. She is her father’s daughter, meant for so much more than a bird-girl, but Zari cannot hear them over the beating of her own heart.

She feels some sort of kinship with this woman. As if, somehow, the two of them have a shared destiny but she cannot explain her feelings, cannot explain how at night she dreams of feathered wings and a bright white moon and a warm hand on her wrist.

 

\---

 

Three days Amaya has been outside her city when Zari’s handmaids have a sudden change of heart. They return to her room midday, flowers in their hair, tucked into the pockets of their clothes and they speak to Zari of Amaya’s bountiful attractions. She is sharp, her eyes keen like an eagle’s but she is kind, warm like the way your first love sits in your heart. She is wondrous and smart, witty and playful and Zari feels her own heart sitting in her throat.

From between her lips she hears herself speak: “And is she beautiful?”

All three of her handmaids blush, heads bowed as they nod, as one speaks of her raven hair, tied up in braids against her head to tame it. Another speaks of her eyes, where Zari had once heard they held mystery she is told now they are brown like the earth after a rainstorm, dark and deep as if you could sink straight into them. And the last speaks of her form, lithe and well-muscled, skin dark against the goldenrod of her tunic and displayed openly: the white scar at her chest.

Before she can ask any further her handmaids reveal they have given away her secret. That Amaya knows of Zari’s fondness for her and Zari feels a sudden rush of anger, of betrayal that her heart has been exposed but then—

“She feels the same.”

“And she wishes to see you.”

“Tonight. When the gates are locked and the lights are out, we will bring her to you.”

And Zari’s heart soars.

 

\---

 

Her room is decorated to veritable luxury before the sun sets. Brocades of precious silks, gold-threaded and soft to the touch lay atop floor pillows and carpets woven in rich hues. Flowers are peppered about the room and then the space itself is perfumed as Zari wraps herself in her best silk, suddenly all too aware of her appearance as the night approaches.

When the gates and doors are finally locked, one of Zari’s handmaids disappears into the fresh night. When she appears again Zari moves to the roof, watches the already shifting light of the nearly full moon cast a shadow down onto the ground below. And by her shadow, eyes up to the sky, she finds a young woman, _Amaya_ , finally and truly near to her.

“Welcome, young hero,” Zari calls down.

“Stars and moon above, you are as I had hoped and so much more.” Zari feels a blush at her cheeks and behind her she hears the giggle of a handmaid. “But you are so far, might I come nearer?”

“Would that my hair could form you a ladder, to lift you to me.”

“Oh, no,” Amaya says softly, “my heart would ache to cause you such pain.”

Blushing again then a soft fluttering in her chest as Zari watches Amaya step back and reach for something on the saddle of her steed. A rope appears and Zari takes a step back, watches in awe as Amaya makes a simple loop and throws it up, hooking on first try the nearest battlement. She is nearer in the blink of an eye and this close Zari is struck by the beauty of her, stunned to inaction even as Amaya moves confidently into her space.

“We have much to discuss, you and I.” The glint of her smile, small that it is, feels a hammer against Zari’s heart. Amaya reaches down, places a warm hand against Zari’s wrist, “I want to know you.”

“And I, you.” Zari hears herself say as she begins to lead Amaya into her chamber.

There is a fire at the outer wall of the room—burning low so the light does not provoke inquiry—and it casts weary shadows as Zari and Amaya move in front of it. There is a carafe of water nearby, a platter of snacks too but neither of them make move for sustenance, instead keeping close as Amaya helps Zari settle her skirt as they sit.

“The mountain,” Zari starts before she catches herself, “would you tell me of the mountain?”

“And the Simurgh?” Amaya asks, eyes and smile gleaming in the soft fire light. She still has a hand on Zari’s wrist and it squeezes gently as Zari nods.

Amaya speaks of the Simurgh with love in her heart and Zari is enraptured. At a height of nearly three men, The Simurgh is larger even than a fully grown bull elephant. Its body is a shadowed rainbow of colors that shine in the morning sun, bright enough to blind if one should look too closely. And she was fiercely protective of her children but so kind and wise.

Zari learns that Amaya grew with two simurgh siblings and while they were learning to fly Amaya learned to toddle and swim around the pool near their nest under the Simurgh’s watchful eye. The mountain was treacherous but the area around the Simurgh’s nest was a veritable oasis, lush and green and though they were high in the mountain the water never froze or ran dry.

“Were you never injured?”

“The Simurgh heals,” Amaya answers, pulling up the sleeve of her tunic to expose a scar along her forearm. Zari runs a finger along it, finds she can barely feel it, can barely _see_ it with the dim lighting.

Zari remembers the story but still she asks, “How?”

“A kiss.”

A blush creeps at Zari’s neck and her eyes flick to Amaya’s mouth before moving up to meet her eyes. “A kiss?”

“She is powerful, my Simurgh.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Everyday,” Amaya breathes out and Zari feels the exhale in her own chest, heavy and sorrowful. “You, my moon,” Amaya says after a beat, “I still want to know you.”

Secrets fly to Zari’s lips before she is ready for them. Amaya’s warmth, the glint of her smile pulls them forward fast like Zari’s want to be known cannot be stopped. Amaya learns of her secret love for the setar, for the way her mind has a knack for numbers and the hunger she has to do more with her life than sit in a room and wait to be married. Amaya learns of Zari’s insatiable appetite, of how she has been learning from the kitchen staff how to make her favorite things and how she grows herbs and spices on her windowsill.

And eventually, Amaya learns that when Zari learned of her existence she had dreams of feathered wings and a bright white moon and a warm hand on her wrist.

“Like this?” Amaya says softly, taking Zari’s wrist in her hand again and Zari feels a gentle thrum against her skin, light and electric.

“Yes.”

“And feathered wings? Like my Simurgh?”

“Yes.”

“And a bright white moon?”

“Like your—,” Zari starts, eyes flicking down the scar at Amaya’s chest and her hand twitches.

Amaya catches sight of it and her voice softens, “Go on.”

The scar sits at the apex of Amaya’s collarbones, white as the moon in the sky, shaped like the face of a fox and Zari brings a hand up to touch it. Amaya’s skin is warm and beneath her fingers, beneath her palm as she presses it flat Zari can feel the beat of Amaya’s heart.

“We are doomed you know.”

“Doomed?”

“My Shah will be angered to know my love sits with a woman of Zahhak blood, my mother too, but my heart is yours. It was always meant to be yours.”

To hear it so plainly, Zari feels struck again, frozen in time even as Amaya brings a hand up to cover Zari’s at her chest. But Zari believes her, agrees with her in spite of everything, of her bloodline, of the disapproval. This is the first night of many for them, Zari knows that now. “And mine, yours.”

If a kiss could move the earth, Zari would feel the ground tremble beneath her feet.

There is a promise on Amaya’s lips, in the wet of her mouth and strength of her tongue and when they finally pull free Zari knows it is a promise for the future.

The first light of day is peeking over the mountains when Amaya speaks again, shadow light casting in odd angles from fire and window. “I will tell my mother, she will not deny me.”

“Deny you?”

“She made a promise, like the one I have made to you.” Amaya stands, offering a hand to for Zari to stand with her and once they are upright Amaya opens her arms. Zari moves into them, tucks her head into Amaya’s neck. “Will you miss me when I am gone?”

“Everyday,” Zari says quietly, arms wrapped around Amaya’s waist as she breathes in the scent of her skin and prays Amaya will return to her soon.

 

\---

 

Amaya returns in the shape of a letter nearly one moon cycle later. The letter is rushed to Zari in the midday and inside Zari finds the easy scrawl of Amaya’s hand, pledging that her mother is going to fight for their love with the Shah. Zari is seized with joy, her heart leaps beneath her breastbone, thumps and bats and flutters as Zari presses the letter to her lips and kisses Amaya’s signature.

She hurries to her desk to pen a reply, lets the beat of her heart dictate the words she lays down. A full page of declarations flies free and with the letter Zari sends a necklace, gold chain and ruby encrusted, off with a handmaid to her Amaya.

Not one hour later, Zari is called before her mother. The handmaid she sent is nowhere to be found but the letter and the necklace are in her mother’s hands, accusations upon her lips: “You have been hiding secrets from me.”

Zari has never been good at keeping secrets from her mother, most especially when they are as important as this, as Amaya. The words spill from Zari’s lips and within minutes her mother knows all. She grips at the letter a little tighter, runs a thumb across the ruby at the center of the necklace and her head is bowed when she speaks again. “This will not end well, my darling moon.”

“Not well at all,” her father agrees, his form sliding free of shadow to reveal a presence minutes in the making.

 

\---

 

Fire is their punishment.

Promises of the city’s destruction and Zari’s own family at the hand of Amaya’s mother. But there is no room for waiting, no time to see if the rumors are true as Zari’s mother seeks a peace, with well-chosen words and the saccharine ply of gifts that glitter and shine. Zari’s mother leaves with stacks of family riches, with livestock and food and when she returns she brings news:

“Amaya has been sent to plead your case with the Shah himself. There is nothing more we can do.”

 

\---

 

If Amaya is going to fight for their love, Zari will fight too.

Her escape from the city is furthered along by her brother, his pull within the city guard gets them safe passage out, Zari and Behrad and two of Zari’s handmaids. They ride by camel, a travelling group dressed in lowly cloth lead by a guard across leagues of hot, arid land and Zari feels the heat but in her heart there is only worry, hope that she will see Amaya safe.

In the city, between winding pathways covered with rich tapestry, between alleys dirtied with mud and trash, Zari and her troupe find news of Amaya in the Shah’s castle, of a party held in her honor. They also find a room. Just one, with mud walls and a window so small the light it provides is barely brighter than the candle Behrad lights in a corner. He loves his sister more than life itself and he promises that he will keep her safe, that he will help her find Amaya if they are able.

That night Zari dreams of blood on her hands, of writing in red ink with a feather that looks so familiar Zari wakes in a sweat. The candles are out and through the window there shines a small ray of moonlight, bright against Behrad’s feet as he sleeps upright next to the door. Zari climbs out of bed, over the handmaids pressed into each other at her side and unlatches the door without making a single sound, her breath held the entire way.

Outside the air is cold and the sweat at Zari’s brow sets a chill through her. The city is not silent but it is quiet, there is laughter a few streets off and the dim murmur of conversation and clearly, close by, there is the clap of hooves, muted in the dirt at her feet. Zari presses herself to the wall as the sound moves closer but then there is a flash of yellow, the outline of the rider slim and pleasing, familiar like the feather in Zari’s dream and she steps forward, calls out: “Amaya.”

The horse stops and the figure drops to the ground, she turns and in the moonlight she is just as glorious as Zari remembers her. Their embrace is a scramble of hands, holding and pulling as Amaya tucks her face into Zari’s neck and breathes in, sighs in a noise that holds more sadness than Zari expected.

“You came for me?”

“You fight for us, I thought I should fight too.”

Amaya’s smile is tired but it is genuine, sweet as Amaya reaches a hand up to brush hair from Zari’s cheek. “You are brave, my moon.”

“Like you,” Zari says leaning into Amaya’s touch, “but I wish to be braver.”

Amaya seems to catch Zari’s meaning before she can speak it, shakes her head. “You cannot,” she starts and Zari feels fire in her chest at the denial but Amaya only smiles wider, “not because you are not able. The Shah will not stand for it, he must be reasoned with and only I can do that.”

“I can reason just as well as you.”

“But you are already out of favor,” Amaya brushes her thumb against Zari’s cheek, moves her palm to cup it fully. “He threw a party in mine tonight, he will be agreeable tomorrow, but only to me.”

“I won’t leave.”

“I would never ask that but you must stay in secret. I will find you when I have won.”

“Tomorrow then?”

Amaya laughs, looks down to Zari’s mouth as she speaks: “Your faith in me is intoxicating.”

“The Shah is no match for you, my hero.”

When they kiss again—close this time, closer than the last—Zari holds tight, hands fisted in Amaya’s clothes as she memorizes the taste of Amaya, the sweet softness of her lips.

 

\---

 

Tomorrow lasts two days.

But it isn’t Amaya that finds her, it is a boy with a letter in Amaya’s scrawl again. There will be a test of strength and Amaya needs her there, needs Zari’s favor in the crowd as she is put to the test a second time.

The stadium is easy to enter. The show is free, a spectacle put on for those who want to see Amaya’s famous skills put to the test, for those that want to see the bird-girl in all her power now grown and willing to fight for her love.

Their seats are not perfect, they are crammed together and Zari must stand on tiptoe to see anything of note. She misses Amaya’s entrance but she sees her heft a spear through a stack of shields, misses the shot of her arrow but hears it whistle, hears the crowd cheer its aim. Behrad helps her to stand on a step to see the last portion, to see Amaya fight and wrestle men three times her size with the strength of a lion. She wins, all of it, everything and Zari’s heart feels so light she thinks she could fly.

Amaya appears only briefly to her that night, a smile on her lips that makes their kiss all the sweeter. The Shah has pulled back his ire, Zari’s city, her family is safe.

“And what of us?”

Another smile, so wide it hits her eyes as Amaya clasps both Zari’s hands in her own. “We, my moon, are forever.”

 

\---

 

There is trouble when Zari returns home. First there is relief, that she is not dead or kidnapped or _worse_ and then there is anger, disappointment. Behrad is reprimanded, her father’s words harsh on her ears so she speaks up, lays a hand on his forearm so that he stills.

“But I am to be married.”

The light that shines in his eyes, realization dawning bright and awesome, is followed by tears and an embrace so tight that Zari fears she might suffocate. Her release is given and then her mother is before her, holding her hands and pressing their foreheads together.

“My moon, I hope you will be happy.”

“I will,” Zari promises, her mind drifting to Amaya’s smile.

 

\---

 

When Amaya returns to Zari there is a parade following behind her. Elephants and camels and horses and wagons, clad in colorful tapestries and beautiful chains of gold and silver and gemstones. The entire city wake to greet her, to throw flowers at her feet and chant her name and from her window Zari watches her approach, a warmth stirring in her chest.

Amaya herself is a sight to behold, crisp white cloth hugging her torso and gemstones in her hair, braids dangling down over her shoulders. Their families meet all at once in a whirl of friendly hugs and kisses but Zari and Amaya do not touch but they do smile, an eagerness in their grins. Amaya’s mother falls silent when she finally sets eyes on Zari, approaches her with soft, slow steps.

There is appraisal, quiet thought and then: “You are more beautiful than I could have imagined.”

Zari feels a blush at her cheeks, smiles wider as Amaya’s mother finally reaches up to kiss her cheeks, to thank her for giving Amaya the love she deserves. Behind her, Amaya is blushing too, suddenly shy amidst the whirling revelry around her and Zari thinks: _My love has always been hers, even before I knew her._

Long hours pass before they see each other again. Details need to be worked out, celebrations listed, finalized and there are matters of the marriage that seem more like business than Zari would like. But that business frees Amaya, sends her straight to Zari’s arms and the warm hearth of the fireplace in her bedroom. They cannot be left alone now that they are promised so there are handmaids in the room too, tucked into the corner trying their best not to watch as Amaya says hello in a series of kisses, each much longer than the last.

“You’ve missed me?” Zari teases, warming beneath Amaya’s touch.

“Should I prove myself more?”

Zari laughs, humming as Amaya leans in to kiss her once again. “No,” she says against Amaya’s lips, “I think you show more than you should.” Zari casts a glance at the handmaids who are giggling behind their hands, watching Amaya with rapture.

“Some things must be left for quieter nights,” Amaya answers, reaching out to hold Zari’s hands. She brings them into her own lap, runs a thumb against smooth skin. “Our future is upon us, my moon. We are destined for greatness.”

Before Amaya, Zari did not believe in destiny. There was only a shadow of the future, shielded by worry and doubt and the looming threat of arranged marriage. But now there is light. Radiant as the sun, possibility filling every part of Zari with warmth, with love for Amaya and the destiny they will share.

“I am destined to you, my hero, we will be great _together_.”

 

\---

 

The ceremony takes only two hours but there are seven days of celebration. Each and every night Zari and Amaya dance and eat and sing and each and every night they return to their bedchamber exhausted and utterly in love.

And at night, when Zari dreams, it is only of a moon bright as Amaya’s smile and the warmth of a lion curled around her back.


End file.
